


no junior partners

by isawet



Category: Titans (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, Family Feels, Found Family, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Robins bonding, i selectively decide what i want to be true, seriously none of the canons
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2019-10-05 06:38:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17319863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isawet/pseuds/isawet
Summary: Two years after the series finale, things have (mostly) settled down. Then Rachel wakes Dick up at five in the morning and says she can hear Jason Todd screaming.(told in little bursts, the making of a family)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> never written for a comic fandom before so this is new and terrifying. I also don't have a beta for this, so I'm sorry for typos, grammar, spelling, missed words, etc. I'll try to fix things as I become aware of them.

Jason remembers in fragmented razor sharp shards of sensory: the contrast of the bright shock of green hair against the white white white of his skin, the sharp whistled singing of the crowbar through the air, the softly curious questions underscored with the jagged hyena giggles.

_\--forehand or backhand?--_

The green of his Robin suit turning black from the dark red red red of his blood.

Green hair, green eyes, green little Robins outclassed in the field. Green pits. 

++

“Dick,” someone is whispering in his ear, and he feels himself repress a violent instinct to being unexpectedly disturbed while he’s sleeping. “Dick?”

“Rachel,” he says, eyes cracking open and his senses reaching out. He can hear an owl outside the window, the wind through the leaves of the trees. A quiet hour, then, if he can’t hear the nervous prattle of Gar’s voice or the mostly friendly sniping little digs between Kory and Donna. A witching hour, if Rachel is crouched at his bedside, eyes more terrified than he’s seen in months. “What’s wrong?”

“Do you remember that other Robin, who came to the penthouse?”

Dick will never forget there’s another Robin, even if his own suit is cast off and the name is dead in his own mouth. He frowns. “Did he make contact?” Dick hasn’t reached out, but he shouldn’t have to. None of his codes work anymore, his bioscans locked out of all of Bruce’s hidey holes. He’s stayed out of Gotham, and it’s been radio silence, even from Alfred.

“I can hear him,” Rachel says. In her pajamas, she looks just as young as she did when Dick first met her in the police station, nevermind she’s hit a growth spurt since then and lost the last of the baby fat that clung to her cheekbones. “He’s screaming.”

 

Dick goes to Donna’s room first. She’s still in the community, active in a way that’s not as removed as she likes to pretend it is. She’s the clear first choice for this--she can fly, she’s got more capes in her phone than Dick does, and she understands Robin in a way Kory can’t. 

Donna isn’t there, but the bed is made and the window is open; off doing mundane heroics, or supered heroics and pretending they’re mundane. She comes and she goes; Dick knows this isn’t the only safehouse she touches base with. Undeterred, he goes further down the hall, Raven nervously hanging on his heels, and raps his knuckles against the frame of Kory’s closed doors. The knock is rapid enough to express that time may be a factor; Kory only takes a minute to let them in.

Her eyes flick over Dick, dismiss him, and focus on Rachel. She opens her arms and Rachel ducks by him to tuck into her side. Usually Dick would crack a joke and maybe risk a careful touch to Rachel’s hair, maybe lean some of his weight on Kory’s shoulder. The fact that he hasn’t makes Kory frown, her hand cupping protectively against the back of Rachel’s head. “Dick?”

“I need to go to Gotham,” he says, and the word is ash on his tongue.

++

Kory makes coffee while Dick packs a bag. Gar stumbles out within thirty seconds of Kory spooning out the grounds, sniffing curiously at the air. “What’s going on? Something bad?” He turns big sad eyes on Dick. “Something to eat?”

Dick doesn’t answer. His phone is clenched in one fist, he’s looping possible scenarios over and over in his head on repeat, following all the possible branches to all the possible conclusions.

Kory hands Gar a box of Captain Crunch. He pops the top open and starts eating by the fistful. “Something bad.” His tone is noticeably tight, even as he more noticeably tries to hide it. His worry comes through the muffled chewing. “Do we have to run again?”

“No,” Dick says, jolted out of his own thoughts. He’d promised them, on bended knee. A home they wouldn’t have to flee, floors that have never seen blood. Their own rooms and family dinners on Sunday. The promise hasn’t stopped any of them from having go bags under the bed and in the front closets, but Dick’s never lived without the looming shadow of impermanence, even before he put on pixie boots and a yellow cape and started hanging out on rooftops in Crime Alley. “No, we’re okay. We’re not compromised.”

Some of the tension eases out of Gar’s shoulders. “Good. Because I think the tomatoes are almost ready.” He turns, leaving the cereal on the counter. “Do you wanna see?”

“It’s five in the morning,” Rachel reminds him.

“Go look at the tomatoes.” Kory’s tone brokes no arguments, and the kids leave, the screen door squeaking open and shut behind them. “I’m coming with you,” she says, turning on the faucet to make it more difficult for Gar to eavesdrop. 

“No.” The refusal is so automatic that Dick doesn’t cognitively realize he’s made the decision. “None of you can come.”

Kory raises a single judgmental eyebrow. “Not even Donna?”

Dick winces. “Donna’s… different.” Gotham knows Donna, tolerates her. 

Kory’s lips purse. 

“Rachel can heal,” she offers hesitantly, “if--”

“ _No_.” His second refusal comes from somewhere deep in his chest, ripped out from where the little boy watches his parents fall away. “I don’t know what he’d do to her.”

Her breath catches, a fist curling up before she relaxes it, an automatic reaction to a threat. “You said he doesn’t kill.”

Dick’s mouth twists in an unhappy smile. “ _He_ says he doesn’t kill. Rachel--he’ll see her as a threat.” His smile flattens further. “And I don’t know if I can predict him anymore.”

“And how would he see me?” Her eyes glow. 

Dick’s smile turns almost real. “You _are_ a threat.”

“Damn right,” she mutters, the glow fading. She takes down two mugs from the cabinet: hers is a pale cornflower blue, his features the crest of the House of El. Donna thought it was funny, Dick suspects Gar was hoping for a few stories of back-in-the-good-old-days. 

He pours the coffee. Neither of them take milk or sugar. They stand at the kitchen window and look out past the ragged front lawn, at the hill rising at the back of the side garden. Rachel has her head on Gar’s shoulder, Gar’s hair is totally flat on one side and spiked raggedly on the other in a mess of bedheaded cowlicks; they’re watching the sun rise.

“A week,” Kory says, “and then I come after you. And they’ll follow, if there’s no one left to tell them to stay.”

Dick wants--. He wants to tell her Donna knew him better then but Kory knows him best now, that he’s never regretted trading the life he built in Detroit for Rachel, that he was supposed to go to the store later today and Gar likes the firmest tofu from the little Asian grocery all the way on the other side of town and he was going to make chicken thighs stuffed with wild rice for the rest of them because he thinks Kory would like it. He leaves out the back door, towards the shed where he keeps his bike, he leaves Rachel and Gar and Kory and Donna; he leaves his untouched coffee on the counter.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick goes to Gotham.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta, I know there must be tons of errors.

Gotham welcomes him back in a sleet of hail. Not home, because even after all the things he’s done and the life he’s lived, _home_ will always be peanuts and popcorn and the rain pinging off the top of his parent’s trailer, the crack of the circus master’s whip and how the chalk stayed in the lines of his palms for days and days after the performances ended. It’s true that he was in Gotham longer than he was at Haly’s, but if the whispers of _circus freak_ can follow him until even as he gets nearer to thirty, then he can claim it as home forever.

He can feel it when he crosses the Gotham border; doesn’t need the chipped sign with the welcome paint worn away and the population number decimated by bullet holes. He can smell Gotham in the breeze and on the rain; the stink of her settles into your bones and stays. It’s pouring, a barrage that batters the back of his jacket and soaks through the bottom of his sneakers into his socks. His face is numb by the time he makes it from the train station to the shitty motel; standing in the lobby waiting for a clerk to appear causes an honest to god puddle to form under his feet. He leaves a hundred bucks in cash on the countertop and picks the locked sliding window open to take a roomkey off the corkboard. 

He sits on the (bare, he’s going to have to do some snooping and find a laundry and some sheets) mattress and calls Kory. 

Rachel picks up. “She’s mad at you.”

“She agreed to this plan,” Dick whines, because he’s back in Gotham but not back- _back_ in Gotham and there’s no way he’s not going to have to burn the clothes he’s wearing to avoid bringing bedbugs back to the house. Then Kory would really be mad.

“So? We’re all mad. You keep promising not to leave.”

Dick wipes a hand over his face and flicks the water down into the stained carpet. There’s mold growing along the edges of it, where it meets the wall. “I didn’t leave. I’m--I’m just here to check on Jason. _Your_ premonition.”

She scoffs. “Sure, blame the teenaged girl.”

This is quite a bit of sass from someone who was waking up screaming every night and begging Dick to find to Jason because she couldn’t stop hearing the sound of his bones snapping everytime she closed her eyes. “Aren’t you supposed to be traumatized,” he grumbles back at her, because Bruce Wayne raised him and he’s not capable of just telling her how proud he is, how awed he is, at the strength she carries, and the way she carries him.

She giggles. “We miss you.”

A rat pokes it head out of the rotted ceiling tiles, peering curiously at him. Its whiskers twitch. “I miss you more,” Dick promises. After they hang up he sends a picture of the rat’s beady eyes and the moldy carpet and the cockroach crawling along the wall. If that doesn’t cheer Kory up, nothing will.

++

He leaves Bruce a voicemail. It’s surprisingly difficult, for a message he’s absolutely convinced Bruce will never listen to. “It’s me,” he says, sitting in a taqueria with a burrito sitting heavy in his belly. He shreds a napkin to pieces while he fights to keep his tone clipped and even. “I got a tip from an old friend, and I’m here to follow up.” He hopes Bruce will assume Donna, or Roy, or even Clark. Dick doesn’t think they’ve patched it up between them yet. It’d be dangerous, if Bruce got wind of Rachel.

He clears his throat. “I’ll leave as soon as I talk to Jason.” If Bruce would just tell him what’s going on, he could be on his way out of Gotham before morning breaks. It’s just as likely as Bruce hanging up the cowl to become a philatelist; nothing progresses in Gotham until the sun sets. 

“I--” he says, and then stops. He shakes his head. “I’m just letting you know. I’ll be around the manor to see A and… collect the last of my things. Bruce--” the voicemail times out, the connection severing with a sharp beep.

He sits there, in the taqueria, his phone silent and dark on the tabletop, for a long time.

++

Gotham haunts him. The heart of her, the clocktower, rings on the hour and he feels it vibrate in his chest. He’s checking old haunts, old safehouses. He finds the hidden lockboxes but his codes don’t work. He can feel Gotham heavy on his heels, see her in the splashes and drips of old blood in alleyways and on sewer grates. The rain never lessens: it hails in fifteen minute bursts and the streets of the narrows are emptier than Dick has ever seen them. Even the criminals are hunkering down until her fury has passed them by.

He gives at dusk, shoving the last of his cash at a taxi driver and slumping into the back of the cab, watching Gotham start to fade away in the rearview mirror. The Gotham elite haven’t actually lived in Gotham proper for generations, preferring to sit just up in the hills looking down. 

The cab passes into Bristol and there’s a crack of thunder and a lash of hail on the windshield so severe it cracks; the driver curses, the wheel jerking. “I’m comin’ back,” he mutters, readjusting his baseball cap. “She gets jealous,” he tells Dick amiably. “Doesn’t like when what’s hers tries to leave. Bitch.” His tone is fond.

Dick makes a noncommittal noise. 

 

The manor is just as dark as he remembers, but there’s lights on. He pays the driver and hikes his bag over his shoulder, walking up the long slope to the gates to the longer driveway. He presses the buzzer, hunching against the cold wind. “Alfred? It’s me.”

The gates creak open with a screech of metal, clanking as they give way to him. The air is biting cold and the night is cloudy; Dick can smell Gotham on the wind. He remembers when he used to skip his way up the driveway, the promise of warmth and home just ahead. His boots feel heavy now, the trees look barren and looming, their bare branches silhouetted jaggedly against the stormcloud sky.

And still, when the door opens before he has the chance to knock, warmth spills out from within. “Master Richard,” Alfred says, very gently, and Dick’s bag thumps against the front step as he envelopes the man in a hug. “Oh,” Alfred says, surprised but not disengaging. “Alright, then.”

“Sorry,” Dick says, stepping back and scratching at the back of his head. “It’s been a while, that’s all.”

“So it has,” Alfred agrees, and his eyes are soft even as he clucks his tongue disapprovingly. “Have you cut your hair once since I last saw you?”

Dick scoops up his bag with a shrug. “Maybe once or twice. I need to talk to the old man.”

“Have you eaten?”

“It’s important,” Dick says. “You know--you know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t urgent.”

“Dinner will be served in twenty minutes,” Alfred says, with the air of finality. “I trust you remember the way to your room?”

Dick sighs. “Yeah, I remember.” He remembers the way to the grandfather clock, too. He means to go straight there, get down to the cave, have it out with Bruce, maybe detour through the kitchen to grab a bite on his way out. There is no way he’s sitting down to a Manor Dinner with Bruce Wayne. 

And yet, his feet take him to his old room. It’s exactly as he left it, which shouldn’t be as surprising as it is. Even with the schism between him and Bruce, the entire house--the entire _mission_ \--is nothing if it isn’t a mausoleum to honor the dead. He’d taken most of what really mattered when he’d left, and what’s left is… stark. Old clothes, faded posters of bands he doesn’t care about anymore, a jumble of pens and books across the desktop. The bed’s been freshly made and the bookshelves freshly dusted.

He sits at the desk and calls Donna. “I’m in Detroit,” Donna answers, skipping the pleasantries. “Would Rachel like a shot glass or a poker chip as a souvenir?”

“She can’t drink or gamble.”

“I remember us doing quite a lot of drinking and gambling at her age. And it wasn’t the least of what we were up to.”

“I’m in Gotham,” Dick says, instead of bantering back. 

Donna sucks in a sharp breath. 

“I’m in the Manor,” Dick clarifies. “I’m… in my room.” He lets out a little laugh, incredulous. 

“I can be on a plane in twenty minutes.”

“No,” Dick says. He flops onto his back and presses a palm into his right eye. “No, I’m not even staying the night. Alfred tricked me into dinner, so we’re doing that, then some kind of altercation with B, follow up with Jason, get the hell out of Gotham.”

“Physical or verbal altercation?”

Dick shrugs, even though she can’t see it. “Maybe both.”

“Who’s Jason?”

Dick snorts. “Maybe if you stuck around a little, you’d be in the know.”

Donna clicks her tongue at him. “I… need to wander, a little. Diana says it’s the sign of a hungry mind.”

Dick doesn’t know why he’s startled to hear that she still talks to Diana, but he is. “I get it.”

“No you don’t. You may have grown up in an honest to god traveling circus, but lately you might as well have tattooed ‘stable father material’ across your forehead.”

Dick laughs outright. “Shut up.”

“You own a _house_.”

“We _stole_ a house.”

“You buy organic produce.”

“Gar is a vegan,” Dick protests. “He needs crispy produce, for… protein, and stuff.”

“Oh Boy Blunder, that is so not how protein works.” Her tone is warm, and strong, and he stays on the line for another two minutes listening to her quiet breathing, the rumbling of background noise. He hears a chime, a muffled announcement. “My plane is boarding.”

He’s oddly reluctant to end the call, even though it’s time for him to make his way to the dining room. “Did you end up getting Rachel anything?”

“The shot glass,” she responds wryly. “I’ve decided to be the fun aunt.”

“No fair, I wanted to be the fun aunt.”

She snorts. “Be careful, Dickie. I’ve heard some rumblings about big bad bats lately.”

Dick frowns. Surely she would have told him if she’d known--“Anything about little birds?”

Her silence tells him everything. 

“Donna, Jesus Christ.”

“I didn’t want you to run back to Gotham to fight it out with him--” there’s a rush of noise he can’t quite make out. “Fuck, I gotta get on the plane. Listen, do what you gotta do and get the hell out of there, before Gotham sinks her hooks into your soul and pulls you to the bottom of her harbor just like she did to Bruce.”

She hangs up before he can yell at her.

++

There’s an actual gong in the corner of the dining room. It distracts Dick all the way through Alfred rejecting his help setting the table. “Alfred,” he says, when the soup has been served and Bruce still hasn’t showed. “Why is there a gong.”

Alfred regards it with significant distaste. “Master Jason found it at a thrift shop.”

Dick laughs. The kid might be a missile for trouble and lacking a fully functional moral compass (and that was two years ago), but he probably shook up Bruce’s life to a degree Dick never even dreamed of, even as he dangled from chandeliers and wrenched door hinges apart by climbing up them. “I need to talk to him. Jason, I mean.”

Alfred’s hands fumble in the act of pouring Dick a glass of water. He once poured four perfect glasses of champagne for a group of thugs that broke in to hold him ransom on New Year’s Eve without a single tremor. “I made your favorite,” he entices. “And lemon chiffon for dessert.”

Dick has had wet dreams that affected him less than the lure of Alfred’s lemon chiffon. He wavers, then sets his spoon down. “It can’t wait.”

“It’s a miracle you tried the soup,” Alfred says with a sigh. “I’ll clear the table.”

 

The clock is just how he remembers it. He has a brief moment of panic, looking at his own reflection, remembering when he could barely reach up to move the hands. But it opens just the same as it always did--and more jarringly, something he’d almost forgotten--it smells just the same as it always did. Deeper, colder, damper. 

The hairs on the back of his neck rise and he squares his shoulders. It’s a short walk, for how deep under the house the passage goes before opening up into the Cave. Get in, he reminds himself, disappearing into the darkness and hearing the entrance crank shut behind him. Get in and get the hell out. 

“Batman,” he calls out, moving slow as his eyes adjust. The cave has never been what anyone would describe as ‘well-lit’, but the atmosphere has definitely darkened since the last time he was here. He feels a flush of anger and youthful frustration--if Batman doesn’t want to be seen here, Dick won’t see him. It makes him feel inferior, less than, forever a student and never on equal footing. “I don’t want to play games, _Bruce_. And it wasn’t my idea to stay for dinner--”

A sudden roar of noise makes him flinch, rolling sideways and tucking himself into the rocky wall before he realizes it’s the familiar sound of the car’s engines and not an attack. He pushes himself off the wall and scowls at the retreating glow of the familiar black vehicle. He wants to shout after it, but it’ll just make him look… like what Bruce thinks he is. Too young and always three steps behind. 

“Fine,” he says to no one. “ _Fine_.” He leans on the intercom button. “Alfred. I need your server login.”

Alfred takes only a few seconds to reply. “I think you will find you do not.”

Dick sighs. He doesn’t really have time for this, but he remembers it. Everything moves slow in Gotham; the years dragging out until the elastic snaps and things fly forward faster than he can process them. In Gotham nights last longer, fights hit harder, the sunshine shines colder. He sits at a terminal and the muscle memory is still there, how to splay his fingers over a holographic keyboard and tap away at them without looking. Annoyingly, his credentials are still valid; he sets the fact aside to deal with later. 

Trackers, he thinks, flicking a look at the razor thin scar in his arm where he dug it out. If he can access the trackers, he can--

There’s a glass case in the cave. Dick stands, the computer forgotten, and crosses to it. He reads the plaque three times, his brain refusing to process the words.

Dimly, he thinks: when’s the last time I saw my family’s colors not stained in their own blood?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> basically i just write this story in stream of consciousness one sitting bursts that i use to destress. As a result, I think its going to be real rough, poorly structured, unedited. Just a heads up for readers. Even so, if you did enjoy it lemme know and I'm on tumblr @ sunspill or for purely comic book stuff on tumblr @ nahekalei


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Short update.

“It’s not true,” Rachel says, after a long awful silence. 

“Rachel…” Dick presses two knuckles to the sudden migraine forming between his eyes. “Maybe you’re dreaming about his death. Echoes.”

“That’s not how it works,” Rachel insists.

“Oh, now you know how it works?” Dick is trying very hard not to look at the suit in the case anymore. The plaque at the bottom is worse, so he stares at the smooth rock of the floor. “Jason’s gone, Rachel. I’ll confirm it with Alfred before I leave, but something went down and he’s dead.”

“You’re wrong,” Rachel says lowly. “And I’ll prove it.” She hangs up before he can reply. He sighs, clenching his phone in his fingers, and then taps the plaque once with the back of his knuckles.

“Didn’t I tell you to get out, kid?”

 

Alfred is tucking sandwiches into a paper sack. “Master Richard,” he greets. “Did--”

“He was already gone.”

Alfred sags, just a little around the shoulders, then straightens. “A shame,” he says quietly. He’s older than Dick remembers him. “He hasn’t spoken to anyone since…”

“Since Jason died.”

Alfred rolls the paper sack shut, tucking in the edges. He doesn’t offer any explanations for why he kept it a secret the first time he and Dick spoke. “Master Jason was a good lad.”

Dick grimaces. “A good soldier. You’d think after a failure he’d change his tune.”

“You are not a failure,” Alfred reprimands sharply. His fingers smooth down the front of the care package. “I included a parcel of cookies, for your friends. Peanut butter.”

Donna’s favourite. “How’d you know about them?” And which ones does he know about.

“Master Bruce keeps tabs. It’s how he cares.”

Dick frowns, chewing at his lip. “Tell him to stay out of my business, Alfie. I mean it.” He can’t tip his hand here, can’t say he’s more worried Bruce finds out about Rachel and the dimensions in her head than Bruce finding out Gar can turn into a green tiger or that Kory can call fire to her fingertips. Can’t risk that Bruce fixates on why he’s more protective of one than the others.

“Master Jason is buried on the premises,” Alfred says, ignoring his warning and the old nickname. “If you’d like to pay your respects, you know the way.” He hands Dick the bag of food. “I hope it will not be so long before I see you again.”

“Yeah,” Dick says, thinking that the world would have to fall into fire and ice before he agrees to set a foot in Gotham again. “Me too.”

 

Jason’s grave isn’t right next to Bruce’s parents, but it’s not far. Dick can see the edges of wires around the stone, sinking into the earth--the same security measures as his parents, then. Dick doesn’t have any flowers, or anything profound to say. He only ever met Jason that one time. 

He’s just about to say something trite and tired just so he can get the hell out of here already when his phone buzzes in his pocket. Two short vibrations, then two long: Kory. He picks up to screaming. Rachel’s screaming.

“--Dick--”

He claps a hand over his other ear, focusing on making out the raucous on the other end of the line. “Kory? What’s wrong?”

“She’s done something,” Kory says, clipped and worried. “Or--has done something, I don’t know. She got all quiet after you talked, and then--” There’s the crash of something breaking, the background worried squeak of Gar’s voice. “She says you have to get him out.”

“Have to get who out of what?” Dick asks, turning, thinking about how long it’ll take him to drive back to Gotham. Then he stops dead in his tracks. 

Because Jason’s grave is moving. Slow little shakes of dirt, the barest rippling of the grass. “He can’t breathe,” Rachel is saying into his ear. “His fingers are bleeding, he can’t--”

Dick drops the phone. He throws himself to the ground, scrabbling to cut away the alarms and other security measures with his pocketknife. He’s lucky he doesn’t get electrocuted, with the sloppiness and speed he’s using, but soon enough he’s cut through the sod and tossed the knife away and to dig with his bare hands. 

And there, rising out of the dirt: a hand. A moving hand. A bloody hand. A warm hand, when Dick grasps it. There’s grave dirt everywhere: his clothes, his skin, spraying up from the ground. In his mouth. But he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let go. 

“Help me,” Jason rasps, the dirt rattling out when he talks. His face is muddy, wet with tears. “Please, help me.”

“I will,” Dick promises, dragging him up into the sun. “I got you. I promise.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once outside, Clark picks him up, adjusting his grip. “You were a lot smaller the last time we did this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have... never written Clark before. As always, it is not beta-ed.

Halfway across the grounds back to the Manor, Jason starts screaming and doesn’t stop. Dick tries to comfort him, tries to quiet him, considers choking the kid out--he’s _hysterical_ , clawing at Dick’s face and arms, sucking in shallow gasping breaths like he can’t fill his lungs up. 

“You’re gonna hyperventilate,” Dick grunts at him, giving up on any kind of cooperation and hefting the kid into a fireman’s carry, aiming them for the back door into the kitchen. Jason’s next wild flail gets him in the eye and he curses, stumbling the last few feet with one eye squinted shut. “Alfred!” he bellows, as soon as he’s over the threshold. “A little help?”

Alfred appears at the other end of the room, eyes wide. “Good _Lord_.” He disappears as fast as he’d come.

Jason’s latest scream tapers off, his eyes rolling back into his head. Dick frowns, then curses, lunging forward and clearing some space with a sweep of one arm, sending a smattering of assorted kitchenware items clattering to the tile floor. He lays Jason out on the granite countertop just as the kid starts to seize.

Alfred returns with a syringe in one hand and a grimly determined expression. Dick holds Jason down while Alfred finds a vein; the effects are nearly instantaneous, which Dick has nothing but gratitude for. Once Jason’s twitching has stopped, Dick steps back, breathing hard. Alfred makes a blood pressure cuff and a stethoscope appear from seemingly thin air and begins to take Jason’s vitals.

“What the fuck,” Dick mutters, dragging a hand through his hair, “what the _fu--_ ”

“Master Richard,” Alfred says evening, and Dick bites off the end of the word. “There’s no need for that language.”

“No need,” Dick sputters, “no _need_.” He points at Jason’s prone body. “How dead was he when you buried him?”

“I assure you,” Alfred says, and his tone is calm but clipped enough Dick knows he’s treading on thin ice. “We were most certain of his status when we laid Master Jason to rest.”

“I,” Dick starts, and Alfred looks at him. Dick shuts his mouth.

“He appears to be stable,” Alfred pronounces. He brushes some loose gravedirt off his cuff. “I’ll prepare you a plate.”

Dick sits at the island, a dead kid to his left and a British butler carrying on to his right. When Alfred hands him a sandwich he eats it.

Then he goes to the other room and places a call to Superman.

++

“Clark will be here in twenty minutes,” he reports, returning to the kitchen to find Alfred already packing up another bag of leftovers. “I’m. I’m taking him with me.” He’s braced for an argument, but Alfred just nods. He reaches behind the counter, out of Dick’s view, and retrieves a duffel bag. 

“Some of Master Jason’s things,” he explains, carefully handing it over. “I… I know you will take good care of him.”

Dick feels a spike of jealousy, hot and ugly. He pushes it deep deep down. “Did Bruce let him swear?”

“No one ever let Master Jason do anything,” Alfred says, and his voice is quietly fond. “No matter what Master Bruce has said or done, this will always be his home. As it will always be yours.”

Dick, mid reach for the duffel bag, stops. He taps his fingers against the counter, then digs his phone out of his pocket. “Do you,” he starts, awkward. “Do you want to see some pictures?”

“Pictures?”

Dick taps at the screen, pulling up his photo album and turning the phone so Alfred can see.

“Madam Troy,” Alfred recognizes. He sounds pleased. “She was always a very good influence on you.”

“I was a good influence on her,” Dick grumbles, and Alfred is kind enough not to call him on it. He swipes his finger. “This is Rachel, I met her in Detroit.”

Not the Bat but pretty damn close, because Alfred looks at his face and hears his tone and raises an eyebrow. Then he sits and pats the stool beside him. “Rachel?”

“Yeah.” Dick sits. “Hold on, I’ve got a better one--” A picture of Kory pops up, her eyes glinting over the top of her sunglasses and her hair vibrantly orange in the sunlight, standing on the front porch giving him shit for taking pictures of her when he was supposed to be going down the dirveway to check the mail. “Oh. That’s um. Kory.”

“Kory,” Alfred repeats. His eyebrow quirks.

“She’s--a friend.” Dick swipes frantically. “Anway, Rachel. This is her and Gar when we went to the beach last summer.”

Alfred peers intently at the screen, no doubt committing the faces and names to memory.

“She’s smart,” Dick tells him, “she’s taking online classes but I bet she could transfer right into a four year just on her scores and her personal statement. And she’s resilient, too. Kind. A total pain in my ass. Gar’s a good kid too, even if he never shuts up. And he’s a _vegan_.”

“Ah,” Alfred says, a quiet smile playing around his mouth. “The inherent revenge of raising children.”

Dick clicks the phone dark. “Ah, no. They’re not--not mine. I’m just looking out for them for a little bit.”

“Of course,” Alfred says, his tone placidly compliant. “My mistake.”

Outside, Clark Kent raps politely at the kitchen door. 

“I could,” Dick says, rising half out of his seat as Alfred makes his way to let Clark in. “Send you the picture. If you wanted.”

Alfred pauses. “I,” he says, soft and almost wavering. “Would like that very much, Master Richard.”

 

“I could take you one at a time,” Clark offers. The teacup is comically small in his hand, but it barely clinks when he sets it down, so effortlessly careful. 

Dick shakes his head. “I don’t want him to wake up and freak out on you. Unless…” he trails off, raising an eyebrow. Something mean and jealous twists in his belly. 

Clark shakes his head. “We met once, I think, but--Bruce and I haven’t been on speaking terms since you before you left.” Dick tries to hide his reaction, but Clark smiles at him anyway. “No one else has called me Uncle Clark. Yet.” He scratches at his jaw. “I couldn’t help but overhear on my way over…”

Dick smiles, the most genuine since he’s stepped foot in Gotham, and unlocks his phone again, pulling up a group picture of Kory, Gar, and Raven, sitting on the porch watching the sun go down, hot chocolate for the two kids and something a little stronger in Kory’s hand. Clark clasps his shoulder, his cape swishing on the floor. “I can’t wait to meet them.”

“Oh,” Dick mutters, “not nearly as much as Gar can’t wait to meet you.”

He sweeps Jason up in his arms, then tucks his face into his jacket, hiding it. “I,” he says, hesitating. “What are you going to tell Bruce?”

Alfred is watching them, expressionless. “I will buy you some time.”

“Thanks.”

Once outside, Clark picks him up, adjusting his grip. “You were a lot smaller the last time we did this.”

“That’s what they all say,” Dick says cheerfully, and Clark’s still laughing when they rise up into the clouds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eager to get all the players in once place, which will happen next chapter. I hope everyone is enjoying and not finding this too boring. I'm trying this new thing where I let myself write short lil chapters, but I understand if people find that frustrating. originally this was going to be completely non-chronological but I seem to have accidentally not done that.
> 
> let me know what you think, I'm on tumblr @ nahekalei for comic stuff and @ sunspill for my main.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Robin,” Dick says quietly. He can feel the weight of Clark’s gaze. “He’s Robin. I couldn’t just leave him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not beta-ed!

Dick and Clark land in the empty field just behind the house.

Clark looks around and makes an approving noise as they walk around to the back door. “Kids ought to have some room to run around. More concrete than grass in Metropolis.”

“Holy Kansas,” Dick mutters. Then he frowns. “How’d you know about the kids?”

“I have my ways.”

Dick shifts Jason’s limp weight in his arms as they slow to a stop on the stoop. “Do you mind?”

Superman knocks on the back door; Gar answers.

++

After Gar’s managed to recover, he tells them Rachel and Kory are out at the store. Then he perches on the edge of his seat and vibrates in Clark’s direction. 

Dick slips into the kitchen and calls Kory. “We’re back.”

Kory makes an annoyed noise. “A text before your flight would have been nice.”

“Not that kind of flight. Can you head back? There’s… a situation.”

“A situation?”

A situation, Dick thinks, in the form of a formerly dead currently comatose teenager passed out on Dick’s bed. “It’s easier to explain in person.”

Kory hangs up, which Dick takes to mean acquiescence. 

“Dick,” hisses Gar, skittering into the kitchen. “Superman is asking me about my tomatos. He’s giving me farming tips. _Get back in here before I freak out_.”

Dick slings an arm around Gar’s shoulders, forcing his tone light and easy. “Too late for that, kiddo. C’mon, he’s not as intimidating as the cape makes him look.”

Clark, having heard every word, is hiding a smile as they return. “Garfield,” he says politely. “Would you mind making us all some coffee? It’s been a bit of a long day.”

“Okay,” Gar squeaks, and trips twice on his way out of the room. 

“Dick,” Clark says, as soon as they’re alone. “Bruce--”

Dick snorts, cutting him off. “You don’t have to tell me about Bruce.”

“I suppose not,” Clarke murmurs, after a pause. “I was telling you the truth, earlier. Bruce and I, we… I only ever met Jason a few times. I don’t know how much I can help you in keeping him away.”

“Robin,” Dick says quietly. He can feel the weight of Clark’s gaze. “He’s Robin. I couldn’t just leave him.”

Gar comes back before Clark can speak again. He serves Clark instant coffee in the Superman mug. “Where’s mine?” Dick asks, and Gar kicks him as he sits on the edge of the sofa, his attention laser focused.

“Are you staying for dinner?”

++

Kory beeps the horn once when she pulls into the driveway. Gar bounces to his feet. “You’ve gotta meet Rachel!” He trips out the screen door, his feet thumping on the porch. “Rachel,” Dick hears him hiss, “Superman’s in the living room!”

Clark stands. “So this is Kory.”

Dick holds the door open, watching them come up the driveway. “And Rachel.”

“And Rachel,” Clark agrees, open affection in his tone. “You were always good with the younger ones.”

“It’s not like that. Just giving them a place to stay until college.” Dick smiles; Gar is bouncing at Rachel’s side, chirping in excitement. “Rachel’s almost as smart as Babs.”

“I see.” There’s something under Clark’s placid tone, teasing and knowing all at once, but Dick doesn’t have time to do anything except flicker him a questioning look before everyone comes through the door. 

Rachel accepts Superman’s handshake with a flush in her cheeks. But she makes eye contact, so she’s one up on Gar. Kory stands just out of handshake range, arms crossed over her chest. “You’re Superman.”

“Yes ma’am,” Clark says politely. “You have a lovely home.”

Kory’s eyes glow very faintly green. 

Dick steps up hastily. “Kory, this is Clark. I’ve known him since I was a kid.”

“It’s been an honor to see him grow into the man he is today.”

Dick coughs, embarrassed, but Kory’s stance softens. “Got any funny stories?”

“Loads,” Clark promises. 

Kory offers him a smile, if not her hand. “Stay for a frozen pizza?”

Clark opens his mouth to respond, then stops. His head cocks. Then his face twists, urgent. Dick’s already headed for the stairs when he says, “Jason--”

Dick flings himself into the bedroom, fingers tight around the doorframe. Jason is sitting up on the mattress, making tiny awful choking noises in his throat. There are red lines on his skin where he’s dragged his nails across it. “Jason,” Dick says, grabbing the kid by the shoulders as he claws and this mouth and neck. “It’s okay, Jason!”

“In my throat,” Jason croaks. “It’s choking me, the dirt, it’s killing me.” He gags, then retches violently, chest heaving. 

Clark appears on the other side of the bed, holding Jason down gently but firmly. “Jason Todd,” he says, in the Superman voice, and Jason stops struggling, eyes wide and desperate. “I can hear your lungs. You are not choking. There is no dirt in your throat.”

Jason’s eyes dart to Dick’s, pleading and hopeful. “You are not dying,” Dick promises. “You are not dead.”

“Jason,” Rachel says, hovering awkwardly at the foot of the bed. “I--you’re okay.”

Jason blinks at her. His brow furrows. “It’s you,” he says, like he recognizes her. 

She touches his foot. Her eyes go black. “Rachel,” Dick snaps, but Kory touches his shoulder. 

“Let her. She’s been practicing.”

“She’s been _what_?”

“Quiet,” Kory orders absently, eyes fixed on Rachel. “She’s concentrating.”

Rachel’s hand, gently curled around Jason’s ankle, just under the pantleg of the suit he was buried in, starts to glow. Except--it’s more like the opposite of glowing. It goes dark, then darker, all the light pulled into the middle and disappearing. Her eyes flicker under their closed lids, the veins around them going black for a few seconds. Dick tenses under Kory’s hand. 

Then Rachel exhales, and the black disappears. She drops her hand by her side. Jason, trembling, stares at her. “It’s you,” he repeats, voice weak.

“Sleep,” she says, and her voice is dual-toned. “You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Jason’s eyes close. His breathing evens out. 

Rachel’s eyes open. Then her knees buckle. Gar catches her before she hits the floor. Dick steps over, gently nudging Gar back to scoop her up into a bridal carry, careful her head lolls against his shoulder instead of flopping painfully. He looks at Kory.

Kory looks back, impassive.

Clark clears his throat. “Gar, let’s get that pizza going.”

Gar frowns, looking anxiously at Rachel in Dick’s arms. “But--”

Clark clasps him on the shoulder. “Let’s go, son. I’ll show you how to make a real cup of coffee.” He pauses, unclasping his cape and letting it flutter down over Jason’s body like a blanket. Gar trails him out of the room, casting a last glance back of Rachel before they disappear into the hallway and down the stairs. 

“Don’t,” Kory says, when Dick moves towards Rachel’s room. “Put her in with me. She has nightmares, after.”

Dick’s lips compress into a thin line. But he goes to Kory’s room, waiting until Kory pulls the bedspread down before carefully easing Rachel onto the mattress. He checks her pulse with two fingers. 

“You know as well as I do she needs to be able to control what she does.”

Dick moves her hair off her cheek, feather-careful. “You know as well as I do what happens to child soldiers when they grow up.”

Kory sighs at him. “C’mon. Let’s go eat pizza with Superman.”

“Just Uncle Clark to me,” Dick tells her, in the hallway. He grins when she rolls her eyes.

++

Clark stops dead in the act of taking a bite from his third slice of cheese and extra mushrooms and a story about how Dick once scaled an eight story building in front of the Secretary of the Interior during a charity ball, head tilted and eyes distant. He stands. 

“Your cape,” Dick says, starting to get up. 

Clark shakes his head. “I’ve got spares.”

Dick stops, surprised. “Clark?”

Clark looks at him, all blue eyes and that dark curl dangling artfully over his forehead, the kind lines around his mouth, the affection in his eyes. “The youngest son of my closest brother, in the care of my godson. A good excuse to visit.” He bumps Gar’s shoulder companionably, pays Kory another polite compliment, then slips out the back door and disappears into the night sky. 

“Hm,” Kory says, unimpressed.

“I’m in love,” Gar breathes.

++

Dick checks on Jason--still out like a light, and hovers just outside Gar’s closed door to hear his quiet snuffly snores through the wood, the creak of the bedsprings as his weight shifts. Then he slips into Rachel’s room to adjust the blankets around her shoulders. She’s turned into the pillow, little creases forming on her cheek. He watches the peaceful rise and fall of her chest for a long moment.

Then the floorboard by the door squeaks. Kory holds up two beers.

He follows her down the stairs and out onto the back steps. They sit, and she pops the tops off with nothing more than a flick of her wrist and a glow in her eyes. The first sip goes down easy, the bubbles buzzing against his throat. He takes another, then lets his hands dangle down between his propped up knees. 

“His godson,” Kory comments.

Dick rolls a shoulder. “Just for a while, when I was small. And it’s ‘personal guardian’. Bruce hated the term ‘godfather’.”

“Does this Bruce like anything?”

Dick smiles, small and sad. “He used to. I think. Maybe not.”

“You gonna yell at Rachel tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Dick admits, “probably. Gotta channel him in some way, right?”

“That’s what they tell me,” Kory the possibly orphan amnesiac says, and they clink their bottles together. 

++

Dick sleeps in a chair by Jason’s bedside. He wakes up when the hair on the back of his neck prickles. Jason is staring at the ceiling. “This isn’t Gotham,” he says with certainty. 

“No,” Dick agrees. He sits up, cracking his neck. “How do you feel?”

“Better.” Jason lifts a hand, looking at the red fabric as it flutters down to the mattress. “Whose cape?”

“Superman.”

“No shit?” Jason’s mouth twists in something more grimace than smile. “Rolled out the red carpet for me, huh? Literally.” 

Dick shifts his weight. Downstairs, a pan clatters. “Did they wake you?”

“No.” Jason’s palm stretches out, and tiny specks of dirt flutter down from his sleeve. There’s dirt around his body on the sheets. “Someone walked over my grave, and it was me.”

“I don’t know what happened,” Dick says, before he can ask. “And I don’t know how.”

Jason stares at the ceiling, eyes bleak. His face shutters, then smoothes out. He grins, cocky and insincere. “Got a shower free, old man?”

Dick frowns. He jerks his chin towards the master bath. “I’ll find you something to wear. You can eat when you’re done.”

“Thanks, but I’ll grab something in Gotham. B won’t want to wait around for leftovers to heat up.”

Dick makes a neutral noise. “We’ll see.”

++

Downstairs, Rachel pouts at him over a skillet of fake eggs and fake chorizo scramble. “Don’t even,” he tells her, shaking a finger. “Unsupervised--”

“Gar was there,” Rachel protests.

Dick ignores her interjection. “--dishonest--”

“Kory knew.”

“-- _dangerous_ \--”

“I know!” Rachel yells, flushing. She slams the pan on the stove. “I know I’m dangerous, that I’m--that this power that I have, what I hear when I use it, I _know_ what I am!”

“No,” Dick says, reaching for her. She scrubs her face against her sleeve, streaking it with tears. “You’re not evil. You’re not.” He pulls her in against him and she tucks herself, sniffling. 

“I have to try,” she tells his chest, her cheek pressed against the button of his rumpled shirt. “I have to make it good.”

“You are good,” Dick promises. He tugs her away gently to cup her face and meet her eyes. HIs voice is firm and unquestionable. “Trust me, I know evil, okay? I do. I knew your dad pretty well, in the end. And you’re nothing like him. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, but her voice is small and shaky.

He kisses her forehead. “Tell Gar to come down and eat. It smells good.”

“It smells like tofu,” Rachel mutters, but she fishes her phone out of her pocket and taps away. The pipes creak as the shower turns off upstairs. “I’ll get Jason--”

Dick catches her by the back of her shirt. “Ah-ah! No. You set the table.”

 

“Jason,” he calls, rapping at the closed bathroom door. “Breakfast’s up. And… we gotta talk.”

The door creaks open. Dick can’t help his smirk and Jason rolls his eyes. “I’ll be taller than you one day, watch me.”

“Sure,” Dick agrees, still smirking. Jason’s swimming in his sweats, one hand keeping them hitched up around his skinny waist, Dick’s t-shirt too big on his shoulders. “C’mon, there’s eggs.”

Jason shakes his head. “Feeling a little shaky,” he mutters, grudging to admit fallibility. “Think I’ll nap until B gets here.” He brightens slightly. “You think he’ll bring the plane? I’ve never been on the plane.”

Dick’s smile flinches. “Maybe,” he says quietly. “We’ll set some aside in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.” Jason stops just before entering Dick’s room. “That girl, with the purple voice.”

Dick blinks. “The what?”

“The girl,” Jason says. “Is she still here?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Jason says, and closes the door behind him.

 

Kory is waiting for him at the foot of the stairs. They can hear Gar and Rachel giggling at the kitchen table. “It’s gonna end in tears.”

“Which fucking part?” Dick asks. 

“All of it,” Kory mutters. “Donna called. She’ll be in tomorrow.”

“Fantastic,” Dick says. “You remember any assassins from your homeworld that want to join the party?”

Kory shrugs. “Too early to say.”

++

They send Gar and Rachel down to the corner store. “It’s gonna be a long day,” Kory says ominously, then lays in the yard on a blanket in the sun. 

When the kids get back Dick goes out and peers down at her. “You’re going to leave me alone with three teenagers?”

Kory flips her sunglasses up. “I’m absorbing power. In case the big bad bat comes calling.”

Dick snorts in disbelief.

Kory slides her sunglasses back down over her eyes. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

 

Dick goes in, scolds Gar for not coming to him about Rachel’s practice sessions, then makes them take him out to the field where they’ve been sneaking off. “I was almost hoping you were making out,” he grumbles, and is slightly vindicated when they both blush bright red. 

“ _Dude_ ,” Gar hisses. “Not cool.”

“Hold on,” Rachel says, “is this why Donna gave me condoms?”

“She gave you condoms?” Dick drags a hand down his face, exasperated. “She was supposed to talk to you.”

“Studies show that abstinence only education doesn’t work,” Rachel informs him.

Dick points at her. “Stop using your studies against me.” He points at Gar. “You, change. I’m timing it.”

He and Rachel turn their backs, polite. “He’s getting way faster,” Rachel tells him, pride clear in her voice. “But it hurts more to turn back when he’s rushing.”

A growl rumbles through the air from behind them, so deep and low it makes the ground vibrate under their feet. “Still green,” Dick comments. 

Gar’s lip curls, showing the white gleam of his curved fangs. Dick gives him a thumbs up. 

“C’mon,” Rachel says, “I wanna show you something else.” She grabs his sleeve, tugging him over to just outside the treeline. “Look!”

It’s a little ring of dirty trinkets, bright pieces of plastic and shards of brown colored glass, little pieces of cloth and frayed twine. “Uh,” Dick says. “It’s very… nice?”

Rachel rolls her eyes. She whistles a little melody, making Dick start--it’s a robin’s song. He’s even more surprised to hear it echoed back. A black bird swoops down and lands on her shoulder. Dick starts forward and Raven turns away, protective. “He’s a friend.”

“He’s a raven,” Dick observes, after the bird hasn’t done anything more threatening than chitter in her ear. The bird places a piece of purple string atop her head, then coos. 

“There’s a few of them,” Rachel says, stroking a single finger down the feathers on his back. “But they’re shy. Azarath is the friendliest.”

“Azarath,” Dick repeats, tone carefully neutral. “A good name?”

“A good name,” Rachel agrees. Gar, still wrestling his shirt back on, joins them, then pulls a face as Azarath squawks at him.

“Same to you, Tweetybird.”

“C’mon,” Dick decides. “It’s lunchtime.”

++

Lunch passes. Dick takes a nap on the sofa, catching up on sleep, then goes jogging with Gar. When they get back he showers, then joins Kory on the porch to watch Gar and Rachel putter around the garden while the sun sets. 

Kory hands him a sweating glass of tea. When Dick sips he sputters. “Is your planet from the American south?”

“Saw it on the youtube,” Kory tells him. 

Dick laughs, takes another sip. Leans his head back on the porch swing. He can smell the faint hint of cigarettes; in his pocket, his phone vibrates.

_I bought you some time_

Dick sighs, slipping the phone back into his pocket. “Gonna go down in tears,” he echoes, and goes upstairs.

 

Jason is sitting in the window seat, smoking out the open window. “Those things’ll kill you, you know.”

“Apparently they won’t get the chance.” Jason stubs his cigarette out on the windowsill and lets the butt fall. 

“We got Chinese,” Dick offers. “Not just veggie, either. We’re talking orange chicken.”

His attempt at levity falls flat. 

Jason’s glowers out the window. “You don’t think he’s coming. You don’t believe in him at all.”

“I don’t need to believe in him. I know him.”

“He’s coming,” Jason says, but his voice breaks. “He is. You’re just pissed because he threw you away, because you weren’t good enough, weren’t as good as me.”

Dick’s jaw clenches. “Bruce Wayne,” he says coldly, “will let you down every time. And Batman doesn’t seem to have any trouble finding new partners.”

Jason flinches, which almost makes Dick feel bad. 

“There’s food downstairs,” he says, instead of apologizing. “Eventually you’re going to have to eat it.”

“Fuck you,” Jason spits. 

Dick doesn’t slam the door behind him, but he doesn’t close it gently, either.

Kory is standing in the hallway. 

He glares at her. “What?”

“Nothing. I just didn’t know you could be so cruel.”

Dick’s teeth grind together. “He needs to hear it. Better now than later.”

“Is that why you brought him here? To make him feel the way Bruce made you feel?”

The words feel like a slap. Dick reels. “How can you say that? You know--you know how I feel.” He remembers the sick snapping noise his boot made in the dream reality, when he crushed Bruce’s chest and ended his life, the wet crunch of it. 

“I know that,” Kory points towards Dick’s currently occupied room. “That kid didn’t do any of that to you.”

Dick shakes his head. “You can’t understand. It’s a Batman and Robin thing.” 

“A Robin thing,” Kory echoes. Then she sighs, moving towards her room. “In tears, I told you.”

“No tears yet,” Dick tells her.

She rolls her eyes, but it’s fonder than her tone was before. “Where you crashing, boy blunder?”

“So glad you and Donna are getting along,” Dick mutters. “And the sofa, unless you’re offering.”

She laughs at him, but it’s warm. “Not tonight, killer.”

He flinches. “Point taken.”

“I hope so.” She kisses his cheek, smelling of sunshine, sharp and burning bright. “Tomorrow’s another day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> let me know what you think! i'm on tumblr @ sunspill and my comic sideblog is @ nahekalei

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think and I'm on tumblr squealing about comic book feels @ nahekalei


End file.
